Red
by Dark Lord of the Fallen Angels
Summary: He sat there, watching, listening. He sat there thinking, sweating. He sat there imagining, crying, waiting. He sat there tied up in his straight jacket, leaning against the padded wall. If only they could see, if only they could see that he wasn't all that twisted. It was an accident it really was, he was scared that's all. Everyone gets scared sometimes. Don't they?


_He sat there, watching, listening. He sat there thinking, sweating. He sat there imagining, crying, waiting._

He sat there tied up in his straight jacket, leaning against the padded wall. If only they could see, if only they could see that he wasn't all that twisted. It was an accident it really was, he was scared that's all. Everyone gets scared sometimes. Don't they?

Who wouldn't? Especially when they were always watching, judging. Scorning him for protecting...protecting himself. People have the right to protect themselves, don't they? What's so different about him? Nothing right? He was so...

 _It was pretty, so pretty. He painted pictures on the walls with the pretty red paint, even though it smelled, and tasted a bit foul. The paintings were pretty, paintings of a family. A family holding hands as the paint dripped from them and their feet leaving trails that led to the floor of the alley. The boy used a big fat brush, the handle white and colored red with jointed ridges. He had to extract it though, the occasional ridge getting stuck in the 'holder'. The head of the brush broke a few times so he had to find new ones, but luckily so many paint sets were strewn about. The color of blood..._

...scared, no, petrified when they came. All those nameless faces, herding him into a mental and physical corner. The darkness enveloping him as enlightened white eyes and scowling faces surrounded him. He wanted to scream, but nothing would come out. As they started to close in he could only let out strangled sobs, backing away his head swerving left and right looking for an escape. His retreat didn't last long as his back hit a wall raising his head he saw his only escape, a fire escape ladder. As he attempted the four foot jump, hands grabbed him dragging him back down and slamming him against the floor. The force of gravity blackening his vision for a few seconds. His terror...

 _...was so alluring. Its beauty when spraying across the sky. The liquid being drained from someone else's body was another pretty sight. He never told anyone this, but, he loved art. It is an expression of what he is, who he is. And right now the paint was everywhere and the walls were his canvas. He loved this color,..._

...etched on his face as blurry figures surrounded him. Their hazy yells banging against his eardrums. He didn't even realize he was being hit until a fist pounded against his head. He let out an agonizing scream as his head bounced up and fell back down cracking against the concrete floor. His vision left him once again only coming back a few minutes later, but that didn't stop the painful pounding in his head as his brain attempted to recover from crashing against his skull. Tears streamed down his face and all he wanted to do in that moment, like many before, was to die. He wanted to erase his existence from this world, but...

 _...this deep shade of red. It was such a pretty color to paint with. Nothing mattered anymore, but his art, his creations. He wasn't greedy, he would make do. As the red pictures were carefully drawn with a finger or head the boy could only laugh, it was beautiful. Every painstaking detail drawn in. Every curve of a finger, a tilt of a head, lift of a brow was colored in. He couldn't stop giggling as he continued to draw his little portrait. Red stained his canvas walls, the floors, the bodies, and him most of all. His little fits of laughter could be heard all over the alley. He couldn't stop..._

...they wouldn't let him do that. He wasn't allowed to die, and yet, he wasn't allowed to live, only to exist. A painful and tormenting existence. The flurry of punches and kicks suddenly stopped which followed a brief moment of content, until a crash sounded. Bits and pieces of glass fell and got stuck in his disheveled hair and landed on his bruised cheek. He didn't even notice the wet substance trickle from a gash on the side of his head, the blood creating a puddle on the floor. When the second bottle landed he let out a pained howl. It hurt, the pain stinging until he lost consciousness, and from then on...

 _...giggling until his giggles became bouts of laughter as he started smearing the blood all over the wall, ruining some of the paintings. He continued to laugh as he took steps back to look at his work of art. Spinning wildly his arms swinging along side him as he continues to laugh. The squish of flesh being stepped on and crash of limbs hitting a wall. His spinning soon made him dizzy, eventually tripping him on body and causing him to fall. He continued to cackle as he layed down with the corpses around him. Turning onto his side a smile forms on his face while looking at what was once a man's chest, now just a mangled mess. He turned towards his other side coming into contact with a face once frozen with fear. He was having..._

...everything was a blur. He lost control, he gave the last of it to the beast that lived within him. But he didn't do anything wrong did he? All he, and the beast, were doing was protecting the body they shared, both individual souls, no matter how much the boy just wanted to die. Why was there so much prejudice against him? All he was doing was trying to protect himself from those monsters. They were hurting him, he even if his physical body has healed and all their left was the color red. His mind still hurt, it was scarred and scars take a lifetime to heal. Why could no one else see? And they trapped him in here because of their own ignorance, and they haven't even let him out of his straight jacket. They continually packed pills down his throat. Couldn't they see self preservation came in different forms? He adjusted his frame only pausing when a creak was heard as the door...

 _...quite a ball, looking at all the lifeless corpses, red staining their faces, hair, and clothes. The horror written upon their faces and utter joy and satisfaction written on his. He never felt euphoria like this, no drug has made him feel so elated. He ripped of his jacket and threw it at the wall, watching it fall back down. The move had no reason other than impulse, but it made him smile watching the crumpled piece of clothing. The very thing that branded him. He started to grab..._

...shifted open. His head turned slowly facing the direction of the noise. Staring unblinkingly as a tall lanky man with silver hair walked in. A girl and two boys following after him.  
The last three his mind not willing to comprehend. His dim blue eyes _waiting_ , _watching_ , _thinking_. As the figure walked in, he prepared himself for his daily meds until a flicker of recognition occurred. He didn't say anything though. He sat there inattentive to his new visitors, regarding them with little care. He sat there...

 _...the bodies. He gained a sick pleasure, getting up and putting the bodies into positions similar to the paintings. He wasn't so pleasant in placing them either. Some he would tugged to hard causing an arm or leg to dislocate. With the others, he would throw them at an alley wall to get them out of the way. Only to run back to retrieve them and reposition them. He grabbed the arm of an..._

... _listening_ , _imagining_ , _sweating_. Waiting for a reaction from the forms that have dared to enter his humble abode. His head deliberately turned back to where it was originally placed, straight ahead. Showing little regard for his guests. A bead of sweat fell down his face as an old emotion hit him again, and then he couldn't stop. It started out as a low chuckle turning into loud guffaws, his head whipping back and hitting the padded wall. His eyes shifted to look at his guests, his head still in place resting against the packed confine. The impulse to maim the person that dares to replace him and rip the heads of his so-called teammates.

"Yes?" He said with a supposedly bubbly tone laced with bloodlust.

"Naruto? Do you still remember us?" The masked man asked. They all took a few steps towards him, the younger two a few feet behind him, and a nurse standing guard at the foot of the door. And the abhorrent child hiding slightly behind his former team, how interesting.

"What no hello?"

"Naruto please answer the question."

"Of course I do Kakashi- _sensei_." His grin slowly turn into a frown, "Now cut the 'pleasantries' why are you really here?" He finishes the question with an intrigued expression. "And what's with...

 _... unrecognizable woman and placing her in the arms of another, doing the same to half a man. Slowly the positions became eerily similar to the mural of blood. Two woman hugging, two men kissing, and a man and woman back to back while holding hands. One looking like they were running and hiding from the others, another looking on to a group as if he was hiding. There were many other arrangements of made up families and groups. Many of the them, not all, holding one strong similarity. One was figure was hiding and watching. From an aerial view the bodies would make far more sense then looking them from an average height. The poses were unorganized and weird from a level view. Yet still recognizable individually. There was one last placement of two bodies. They were sleeping -resting- next to each other, curling into each other's body, but yet not fully touching. There was a place between them. He walked over to the couple and laid in the open area. Pulling the two bodies closer to him and wrapping their arms around him looking as if they were hugging the child close. As if they were a family. A mother, father, and son. His eyelids started to droop and in response he..._

...all these questions? Hmm, why are you really here?" He asked. A glare was written all over his face as he said that. "Have you finally remembered that I exist or is there something else?" He watched them flinch to that statement. As the girl was about to answer the question he decided to interject, "And Sakura- _chan_? Don't give me any bull and get straight to the point."

After a pregnant silence a stoic figure managed to answer, "They're going to execute you." And as he spoke those words the girls whole posture managed to deflate.

"Hmm, is this true Sasuke- _kun_?" Getting a nod as affirmation and a slight twitch the blond managed to start laughing once again. His eyes gaining a crazed glint. "Well I hope it's soon!"

"It's today, we have come to escort you."

"Why thank you Sakura-chan! How sweet of you!" The three looked ready to burst because of that statement, "Now, now don't get all wound up..." As he said this he promptly stood up from his sitting position. When he rose to his feet he finally got a good look at his previous teammates, and replacement, "Well what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Naruto walked straight past his past team, the nurse, and his 'successor' with a psychotic grin placed firmly on his face. It was time for release.

As he walked through the crowds of people, he could see it. Some were _waiting_ for his death, other were _sweating_ nervously about his appearance, more were _imagining_ life without him, a few were _thinking_ about his execution, many were _listening_ to the announcement, and everyone was _watching_.

He was taken to stand on the platform where they would proceed to lynch him, and with one solemn goodbye, one single tear in which he was finally _crying_ he...

 _...promptly closed his eyes._


End file.
